


Angel

by bloodandcream



Category: Supernatural
Genre: 16 yr old Cas, Alternate Universe, Bondage, Face-Fucking, Home Invasion, Horror, M/M, Mentions of Wincest, Rape, Rough Sex, Serial Killer Dean, Torture, Urination, Vomiting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-15
Updated: 2015-05-15
Packaged: 2018-03-30 15:21:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,454
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3941695
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bloodandcream/pseuds/bloodandcream
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Castiel had nightmares when they started splashing the gruesome details and crime scenes all over the news. The brothers were insane. Frighteningly, violently insane. They squatted in abandoned houses and warehouses, and when police found their hide outs they found bodies, bloody signs painted across the walls, satanic paraphernalia. Castiel hated catching any of it on the news. But he had to admit being morbidly fascinated when the brothers were finally taken to court and footage was shown of interviews or from the courthouse steps.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Angel

Castiel sat on the sofa with his feet tucked underneath him and a blanket across his lap, transfixed by the information flashing across the wide screen t.v. He had been watching a nature documentary. It had been a nice relaxing night. Now, in the darkness of the living room, images of eviscerated corpses with their eyes gouged out and satanic graffiti splashed across an abandoned house was played on loop as the ‘Breaking News’ interrupted regular broadcasting.

He had tried not to follow the case when it surfaced nearly a month ago, he actively avoided watching news because the story was all that was played for a while. Two brothers who were serial killers with a body count high enough that Castiel was sick to think of it, they were finally captured after years of chase. Who knows how long they’d really been at it, how many people they’d really killed. The Winchester brothers zig zagged cross country baffling law enforcement and leaving macabre scenes in their wake. The authorities didn’t even know that there were two of them at first.

Castiel had nightmares when they started splashing the gruesome details and crime scenes all over the news. The brothers were insane. Frighteningly, violently insane. They squatted in abandoned houses and warehouses, and when police found their hide outs they found bodies, bloody signs painted across the walls, satanic paraphernalia. Castiel hated catching any of it on the news. But he had to admit being morbidly fascinated when the brothers were finally taken to court and footage was shown of interviews or from the courthouse steps.

It was no wonder they managed to charm their victims. With bright eyes and dimples, plush lips and cocky swagger, they were charismatic and self assured even in handcuffs. And so fucking insane. They babbled to reporters, and anyone who would listen, about how they were doing a service for the country. How they were killing monsters and demons. How civilians couldn’t understand what they were doing, how important their work was.

It was absolutely frightening what the human mind was capable of convincing itself of.

Castiel wanted to turn the television off and go to bed. But he couldn’t. The Winchesters had finally been apprehend and were currently being detained in Pontiac, Illinois .

This was a terrible time for his parents to be out of town. Castiel almost wanted to call them just to hear their voices, to be reassured. He was sixteen, he was a good kid, he could watch himself home alone over the weekend while they were away. He had been excited, although the limitations of his deviousness so far was too much junk food and masturbating loudly.

Now, the house was a cavernous frightful thing with too many closets that sat too far away from the neighbors in the too dark night. Dean Winchester, the elder of the brothers, had escaped custody - leaving a bloody trail in his wake. He and Sam Winchester were being detained separately, and there was no doubt that Dean would try to get his brother free. The authorities were banking on catching him again that way, although they were scrambling around searching for him in the mean time.

There was a ticker tape of notifications across the bottom of the screen with the 'Breaking News’ story about where he was last seen, what he was wearing, where he should be headed. A pretty blond news anchor advised people to stay inside. Keep the lights on. Lock the doors.

Castiel knew that he shouldn’t be so frightened. He was on the other side of town from the prison. He was in a quiet suburban neighborhood and there was no reason for an insane serial killer to come this way. He told himself logically that he had absolutely no reason to worry.

But then, he also told himself that no one expected it. People never saw it coming, believed that these terrible random tragedies could never happen to them. That he was all alone.

No. Castiel shouldn’t get himself worked up for nothing. Standing and turning the television off, he folded the blanket and slung it across the back of the couch. He turned on the hallway light. He turned on the kitchen light. He cleaned his plate and rinsed the coke can he had drunk before putting it in the recycle bin. He checked the locks on the front and back doors, and yes they were still locked. He had no reason to be afraid.

He turned the kitchen light off out of habit, but left the hall light on when he padded upstairs and in to his bedroom. There was a tingling creep of apprehensive fear along his spine that pulsed under his skin, but Castiel tamped it down and told himself he had nothing to be worried about. Stripping off his clothes, he put on comfortable flannel pajamas and a loose t-shirt. He left his bedroom light on too as he flopped on his bed. Castiel wasn’t sure if he could sleep with the light on, but he also wasn’t sure if he could sleep at all.

He had an overactive imagination. There was no reason his skin should be prickling with goosebumps. Castiel couldn’t stop thinking about it though, about a psychotic killer on the loose in the town that he lived in. But there were plenty of other psychotic people, dangerous people, bad people, that must live near him and he never knew about because they were never caught. He tried to rein himself in, distract himself, think about something good.

Castiel’s thoughts turned to school and to a new kid that had recently moved from overseas. He was attractive and witty and intelligent. Balthazar. Castiel liked him, they had several classes together and he was trying to work up the nerve to ask the other boy out. It was easy enough to distract himself, although that sharp tinge of fear scraping under his skin was still there, but thinking about something else, something more pleasant, dulled it.

Rolling on to his side, Castiel pushed his pajama pants down to pull his cock out. He liked Balthazar’s accent, his smile, how confident and extroverted he was. He was nothing like Castiel. Laying on top of the sheets, Castiel stretched across the bed to his night stand where there was a bottle of lotion. He pumped a little into his palm and spread it on both of his hands, one slick had grasping his erection and the other sliding down between his legs.

He’d never done this with another boy. The most adventurous that Castiel had been with another boy was a hasty handjob traded in an empty class room. He’d never put his mouth on another boy’s cock, or had one on his, had never touched further down, there, where his fingers slid in to his body as he arched off the bed.

Castiel panted and moaned as he slipped two fingers inside himself. It was strange to do this with the lights on and his bedroom door open but his parents weren’t home. Biting his lip, he tried to twist his fingers around just right, concentrating. He heard something metallic clink and suddenly the world expanded back to an awareness beyond his bed. It left his head ringing like his ears had popped at high altitude, a sudden shift.

Castiel froze, breath caught, fear tight and hot in his chest, cock still in his hand but his pulse was beating too fast he could feel his heart against his ribs. He strained to listen, news story ticker tape circling his brain and paranoia gripping him again but he heard nothing. Arousal forgotten, wilted, Castiel curled up on his side wide eyed and quiet. The world was quiet.

He heard something shuffle like the whisper of clothes from the other side of his room.

From the closet.

Castiel couldn’t tell if he was hearing things because his imagination was speeding up enough to outpace reality or if he had really heard something - someone - in his closet. He rationalized it away. Or tried to. Like when you have your headphones on and keep hearing your name but no one’s actually talking to you. Or when it’s dark and late and the scratch of a tree branch against the side of the house is something sinister. There was nothing in the closet, maybe a rat.

Castiel was trembling with his fear. Pulling his pajamas up all the way he crawled under the blanket, eyes locked on the closet but he didn’t hear anything else. He turned the bedside lamp off, it was too bright to sleep. The hall light was still on, long stripe of yellow light cast across the bedroom and over the foot of his bed. But the closet doors, those bifold doors with the slats, they were in darkness.

Something moved outside, rustled in the bushes and it made Castiel twitch. The security light on the garage that was behind Castiel’s bedroom window clicked on. It was probably just a stray animal. That was all. A cat.

Tearing his eyes away from the window, Castiel sat up in bed and took a deep breath. The security light from the garage cast another slash of light through the window and the silver rectangle of it crawled up the closet doors.

Castiel felt like something was crushing his ribs, squeezing them tight, too tight, he couldn’t breath. Through a slat in the door cast in the bright swathe of silver from the garage he saw something gleam. Something white and glassy. Something green.

Someone’s eye.

Castiel tore his gaze away from the closet door. No one was moving in there. Maybe he was still imagining things.

He knew he wasn’t imagining things.

He was paralyzed as the possibilities crashed through his mind, floodgates well and truly shattered now. The person in the closet didn’t move. Maybe they didn’t know that Castiel had seen them. Maybe they were hiding. Maybe, if he was calm, if he could get out of his room, he could call someone.

He had to unwind his body, unstick his joints, fear thick in his blood like sludge pounding inside his ears shaking in his fingertips, slow dread creep of venom. Castiel stood on awkward legs and strode across the room. As soon as he was in the hallway he was running, tripping down the steps, he couldn’t keep the dread from pushing him forward. In the kitchen, the phone on the wall, he grasped it in sweaty hands.

9 - 1 -

A thick strong arm circled his waist and a rough hand clapped over his mouth.

“Wouldn’t do that if I were you.”

The phone clattered to the floor, crack of plastic on tile noisy but distant through the muffled scream and the sound of his ragged breathing through his nose. Castiel was paralyzed, stiff and taut in this stranger’s arms. But he wasn’t a stranger. Castiel knew he was, knew him from the television and the news stories, knew his violence and his depravity and his madness. His body was solid pressed against Castiel’s back, breath hot against his neck where the fear bubbled up prickling his hair to stand on end. The strong arms around him pulled him, dragged him, and Castiel was paralyzed.

He didn’t understand why they were going back up stairs. To his bedroom. He knew that in the morning his body would be stiff and cold and his parents would find signs painted in blood in their house. That was how it always ended wasn’t it, for their victims.

But what happened between now and morning.

The beige carpet was soft under his feet. The arm around his waist holding him, pushing. When they got back to his bedroom the panic broke and lashed through him, - dread - fear - wrongness - and Castiel kicked out. He thrashed in the stranger’s arms and shoved his elbows back and fought with the clawing desperation of trapped prey.

Rough hands caught his arms, pulled them back and pinned them as he was spun and slammed face first against a wall. He was going to be eviscerated. Branded. Mutilated. His face smashed against the wall and he felt blood trickle from his nose but the hand wasn’t on his mouth anymore so he screamed and his forehead hit the wall viciously, cracking the sheetrock. Dazed, bewildered, Castiel struggled weakly.

The voice behind him was rough, deep and dark and it made him shiver. “What’s a pretty boy like you doing home by himself huh? Thought this place was empty. Then I saw you. What’s your name, pretty boy.”

Castiel whimpered, the sockets of his arms aching and the fingers gripping around his wrist twisted cruelly, digging in to his skin.

“Answer me.”

“Castiel.”

“Mmm. Cas - ti - el. Cas. You know who I am?”

The body behind him shoved, trapped him against the wall.

“It’s - ah - you’re, are you, Dean Winchester?”

“Guess you keep up with the news. You’re a smart boy aren’t you?”

“I - I - ”

“Smart boy like you, pretty boy, you know how to make this go easy don’t you?”

The hand that held his wrists let go, both hands squeezing his hips, moving down, fingers tugging at the waist of his pajamas, and Castiel felt Dean shove against him, felt the hardness of his cock against the small of Castiel’s back, felt the heat of his body and knew his intent.

Warmth, wetness, blossomed against the front of his pajamas and trickled down his legs, sharp ripe stench of ammonia and Castiel felt tears on his cheeks as he trembled against the wall trying to curl in on himself, pissing his pants and sobbing.

“What the fuck did you just do?”

Castiel pulled his arms up and covered his face, shoulders hunched forward, ashamed and terrified.

“I - I - I’m sorry.”

The body trapping him against the wall pulled back, spun him around and yanked his pants down vicious enough he heard the fabric rip.

“You fucking filthy boy.”

His soaked pajamas twisted around his ankles, tripped him when Dean stepped away from the wall and pulled him, pushed him across the room. Stumbling, falling to his hands and knees halfway, Castiel tried to crawl away but the man was on him. No. He wasn’t really a man, he was a monster, a beast, a thing of nightmares. He was tall and heavily muscled, experienced in this sort of thing, cruel. Castiel cried out when he was yanked by the hair, a hand twisting up in it and pulling him around still on his knees. The light was off in the bedroom still but the hallway light was on and he could see Dean now, staring up at him from kneeling on the floor.

His belt was undone, pants unbuttoned, and some distant still rational part of Castiel’s brain that was fried on adrenaline told him that was probably what he heard from the closet earlier. It made sense. In the real world. All of this did, even if it was dark and quiet now and Castiel was a frightened little animal, it would make sense in the real world in the morning when they found his body.

“Oh god please don’t kill me, please, don’t hurt me, don’t, I can’t, I’m sorry please.”

“Shh, shh, you be a good boy, I won’t hurt you.”

His lips were curled up in a smile and the hall light illuminated half of his face, the sharp line of his jaw, the glint in his eyes that might be pretty if they weren’t so cruel.

“Please don’t, please -”

Dean hunched over him, grabbed his shirt and yanked it off, throwing it aside. He was naked, he was naked and his thighs were wet with his own piss and he was kneeling in front of this serial killer who was telling him to be a good boy.

Castiel bolted. It was stupid and reckless and he knew he’d never win a fight with this man but he pushed up because all he could see was the light in the hallway and he just wanted to get out of this room.

Hard knuckles split the skin of his face and a knee to his stomach had him on his knees again faster than he could blink. Castiel curled up on himself, copper taste sickening in his mouth.

“What I tell you? You be good for me pretty boy, I won’t hurt you, that wasn’t very good was it now.”

His head was pulled back again, fingers tugging harshly at his hair. Dean ran a thumb over his lips and smiled, tracing his jaw and the arch of his throat. Castiel squeezed his eyes shut, trying to will his imagination to work for him and take him somewhere else but he could smell urine and body odor and his cheek was throbbing. Warm skin was pressed to his lips and he clenched his jaw.

Another hard blow landed across his cheek and he would have fallen sideways if Dean didn’t haul him up. Panting, reeling, slack with pain and confusion, he jerked weakly when Dean pushed his cock past Castiel’s lips.

“You even think of hurting me, I promise I will take you apart slow and thorough.”

Castiel clenched his hands into fists against his thighs and opened his mouth, gagging when Dean fucked into him too deep too fast, cockhead pushing against the back of his throat. He struggled to keep his roiling stomach under control, but Dean kept hitting him back there, eyes watering and he couldn’t breath, couldn’t, couldn’t. He felt the hot rush up his throat of his stomach heaving but Dean didn’t pull out. It was acrid and foul as it burned his throat, messy spewing out his mouth around Dean’s cock, pushing up and out his nasal cavities when Dean kept fucking.

His stomach clenched even when there was nothing left, foul mess of it hot down his chest, spit and vomit and snot and tears and he couldn’t pull back from the broad hand holding his head, the man shoving deeper still until it pushed down his throat and he couldn’t breathe around it, Dean holding him with his nose squashed to Dean’s pubis, writhing, dizzy and nauseated and sick.

“You fucking filthy boy, keep making messes, fuck it’s so hot and wet though, jesus you look good like that.”

Castiel’s jaw ached and his mouth was full of it, thick and sour, full of Dean’s cock thrusting deep. He cried and gasped for breath when Dean finally pulled out, shoving him back. Collapsing back on the floor, he curled into the fetal position in a pool of his own vomit and desperately prayed Dean was done with him.

A rough hand grabbed his upper arm and yanked, half dragged him over to the bed and flipped him over.

“No! Nonono, please, haven’t you had enough, please -”

A hand cracked down hard on his backside, rocking him forward where he kneeled on the floor with his upper body splayed on his bed. Castiel fought again, the pain sharp and hot under his skin. He twisted around and lashed out wildly, uncoordinated and inexperienced and stupid, stupid. Dean shoved him back, hands on his hips pulled up, shoved back, bed bouncing underneath his weight. Castiel scrambled, flailing. Dean straddled his waist, caught his arms. Wrapped something tight around his wrists, a belt, pulled hard enough it hurt where it dug in to his skin and he felt like his bones were being crushed together in his wrists. They were pulled up above his head and tied to the headboard, Dean’s weight heavy on him, still fully dressed but his cock stuck out hard and wet with sick.

“You’re so pretty, shh, don’t cry baby boy, I’ll take care of you.”

Dean slid down his body, denim jeans rough scraping over his skin drying tacky and sticky. He felt like he’d retch again at the smell in his room if he could. Dean nudged his thighs apart, Castiel tried to squeeze them together, but calloused hands dug into his flesh and pulled, prised him wide as Dean kneeled there in the space he’d made. Castiel’s chest was heaving with the shallow hiccuping sobs but he couldn’t stop himself from watching, waiting.

“I remember when my boy was round your age, what’re you, fifteen, sixteen?”

“Sixteen.”

His voice was rough and hoarse, quiet.

“Sixteen, yeah that was a good age for Sammy. He was a little shit though, made it hard on himself when he wouldn’t listen to daddy. Too stubborn for his own good. But god, god when he was a little younger, a little sweeter. I remember when he was twelve, so fucking smart and curious. His mouth was so tiny could barely get his lips around me. But his ass.”

Castiel was tugging ineffectually on the restraints around his wrists, only pulling them tighter, and he felt pins and needles in his hands going numb. Dean bent his legs up, spreading them out wide and Castiel felt the panic seize like a vice around his chest again.

“Every time I slid into his tight little body I just wanted to crawl up under his skin and live there, perfect peach ass, fuck, an’ he made the cutest little noises like you now, but it’s okay baby, you go ahead and cry, I’ll make it better.”

Dean stretched out over his body, reaching for the night stand. Castiel watched in wide eyed horror as he grabbed the lotion that Castiel had used on himself not even an hour ago. It felt like the span of forever ago, some divide suddenly between then and now, irrevocable shift of paradigm, he didn’t know where he was. The sound was slick and wet as Dean hummed and stroked himself, slid his hand down between Castiel’s legs. His achy weary limbs twitched and kicked out, tried to kick him away, there was no where to go with his hands tied up but his legs kept trying to close. Dean snarled and held him open, shoved in to his body, all the way with one sudden push that burst hot and acutely painful, shocking up through his body jaggedly.

Castiel thrashed, his whole body twisting up, but Dean pinned him with broad hands on his hips, drove in to him, sharp slap of skin, hips pressed flush up to him, ground in, snapped his hips. Castiel didn’t realize he was holding his breath until a hand slid up his side and stroked over his ribs.

“Breathe, take a deep breath baby, come on.”

His body lit up with new sensations when he breathed, muscles cramping and tight, belly quivering. He gasped for air and sobbed, squirming, body flush with heat and aching. Dean soothed a hand back down his stomach and over the inside of his thighs. Kneeling up, Dean pulled Castiel further onto his lap, tilting his hips up, petting the tops of his thighs. Castiel was soft, reeling from the violent suddenness and still incredulously disbelieving. He felt a hand trail up the cut of his hip to where his cock lay limp on his stomach, fingers curling around it.

“No, nonopleasedon’t.”

His mouth still burned with bile and ached with abuse when he tried to talk.

“S'okay baby, I’ll take care of you.”

Dean was still, his cock hard and hot inside Castiel, pressed deep, but he was still and the sharp pain abated while Dean took his cock in hand and squeezed lightly. He was smiling. He licked his lips and smiled down at Castiel, stroking him. Castiel was horrified when he felt blood pulsing down, cock hardening in Dean’s hand.

“No, oh god please don’t, don’t make me, I don’t want to…”

His cheeks were wet as he shook his head thudding it back against the pillow, fingers clawing at the belt around his wrists. He could feel pleasure swelling in his body but it wasn’t a sweet easy pleasure, it was a mangled, gnarled mad thing in his gut and he didn’t want it.

Dean stroked his erection, thumb swiping over the head, grasping him tight and jacking. “Shhh it’s all right baby boy, I know what to do, I can make it feel better.”

He started to move again, roll his hips, fucking deep into Castiel’s body as his hand matched his pace. Castiel felt pulled, stretched too taut too thin, between the harsh throbbing ache of pain and the tight desperate want of pleasure. A broken groan stuttered from his lips when he felt that pressure snap wide open and he spilled over Dean’s hand, and his belly, coming thick and hot as it tingled up his spine and he bowed off the bed.

“Good boy, that’s my pretty boy.”

Hand slipping from his wet cock, Dean pushed his legs up and folded him over, thrusting brutally into him, hard enough the headboard slammed back against the wall. Castiel tried to scream but his voice was a hoarse rasp of a whisper, Dean grunting on top of him. His pace was fast and erratic, fingers digging in to Castiel’s thighs holding him wide. Dean cursed and slammed into his body grinding his pelvis against Castiel when he came. Castiel could still feel the low thrumming ache through his whole body but he was numb.

He felt hollow when Dean pulled away, legs falling down to the bed tired and aching. He didn’t bother to close them, lay there panting as the older man stood. Dean tugged at the belts around his wrist, and when they moved he felt sudden stab of pain through his arm and hands as circulation started coming back, Dean tugging the belt off roughly. Castiel curled up into a ball on top of the ruined sheets.

Dean picked Castiel’s shirt up off the floor, spit on it and rubbed his dick before tucking it back in his pants and putting his belt back on.

Castiel didn’t recognize his own voice when he asked, “Are you going to kill me now?”

“No, no baby boy why would you think that, you’re not a monster.”

Castiel wrapped his arms around his legs folded up against his chest and shook, unable to stop his body from trembling, trying to hold himself together. Dean came over to the bed and he flinched but he didn’t roll away, too exhausted to do anything but cry silently as Dean pushed a hand through his hair, bent over and kissed his forehead.

“I don’t think I’ve ever met something quite like you. But I know what you are. You’re an angel.”


End file.
